It's time to step away from the T-word

Republishing this piece from 2015 since it seems as relevant today as it was then.

As if you have to ask. You know you've said it. You know you've been saying it too much. You may have tried to stop, but can't. In the U.S., especially, people seem fixated on it.

The T-word makes many of us incredulous. It enthralls some, repels others. No one is neutral about the T-word. Some repeat it out loud to make sense of it. Few of us are immune to it. It baits us like P.T. Barnum, or Harold Hill, or Jay Gatsby.

It seems a distinctly American word: trump. There, I said it. As in "to trump" or be "trumped." It implies a quick, clever trick. It's an abrupt word. Linguistically sharp with edgy elbows at the beginning and end. One syllable, one note. Simple, really. 

There is theater in the trump card. It is often played with an arm-waving flourish, designed not just to win, but also to attract attention while doing it, say, like wearing a bright red cap in a crowd. It implies gamesmanship without the need for consistent skill. 

The Random House dictionary defines the word trump as "any playing card of a suit that for the time outranks the other suits." It's just a suit of a different color, powerful for the moment, yet transient by definition. A fleeting center of gravity without the gravitas. Still it is a winning strategy at the right time.

In our times, the T-word feeds our infotainment culture perfectly. It's showy and sometimes unpredictable and that is always seductive. The more we drop the T-bomb, the more the media covers it. And the more it is in the news, the more it seems like a real movement. And maybe it is. 

The T-word appeals to our basest instincts. We keep it alive in a national game of gossip. It has a can't-look-away quality that hooks us and makes us feel that maybe we, too, can speak our minds bluntly and be heard and followed and admired. Maybe we are all apprentice celebrities in waiting. 

For now, the T-word remains bold, loud, and fearless. It blares like a trumpet without a score. But it is not sustainable. Our brains habituate naturally. Even the T-word will become a habit and the habit will become boring. We'll stop hearing the continuous hucksterism. It will be like tuning out a barker at the county fair. The non-stop snarling will fade into background noise. 

Until the 24/7 trumping finds its rightful dead end, there is something we can all do. Stop saying the T-word. When you hear it, change the subject to Rubio or Clinton, Sanders or Fiorina. If you have to, Jindal. 

Because the T-word only has power if you let it. Don't let it roll off your tongue. Buck up, be brave and back away from the T-word. You can do it. Really. Go cold turkey if you have to. Now. 

Revisiting the American colossus

I’m usually sleepy when the 7:00 a.m. alarm goes off and the news starts floating over me, gently at first. Then it seeps into my consciousness with varying degrees of disbelief, anger and, occasionally, relief. Today that transition ended abruptly with a hard blink and a whole-body toss.

While I was listening to NPR, I heard an interview with acting director of U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services Ken Cuccinelli. He discussed the news that President Trump plans to limit legal immigration by denying green cards and visas to those who are likely to request public assistance (translation: people who are poor and uneducated).

Cuccinelli was asked about the words in Emma Lazarus's poem “The New Colossus,” which is featured prominently at the base of the Statue of Liberty. This iconic poem has come to define the American promise to immigrants for generations: “Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,/The wretched refuse of your teeming shore….”

When Cuccinelli was asked if the words of that poem still remain part of the American ethos, he said that they did. He just offered some tiny changes to the opening lines: "Give me your tired and your poor — who can stand on their own two feet and who will not become a public charge."

So now Trump administration officials fancy themselves poets in addition to all of their other skills. All I can offer is my riff on this seminal poem, originally written in the hours after Donald Trump was elected president of the United States. It feels as relevant as ever.

Do you have a take on the Lazarus poem? Share it in the comments section.

The new American colossus

By Tina Rapp

Giants of capitalism rise, chanting "me-me-me, my-my-my."

Thrash through

women, Muslims, Latinos, the disabled.

The racism, the misogyny, all that hate? Just comes

with the electoral package when you need a job.

With trembling lips, remember:

"Never stop believing that fighting for what's right is worth it." 

Think of the desperate, the tired, the poor. The angry white men yearning to be free.

Let the demagogue lead, try to redraw the borders of our teeming shores.

Our diverse masses will be free.

Here, a mighty woman still stands at the welcoming gate.

Glows. 

The divide, Hollywood style

Two movies about women. Two vastly different views of female power. Two contrasting directorial approaches. Roma and The Favourite both landed 10 Academy Award nominations this year, splitting the top honors. Both are impressive contenders and showcase a range of what cinema has to offer. Though it’s hard not to see the conflicting stories they tell when it comes to their portrayal of women.

The Favourite seems the perfect film for the Trump era. What’s not to like about a black comedy these days? This film delivers imperialistic intrigue, palatial settings, and triumphantly big hair. The story centers on England’s Queen Anne (Olivia Coleman) and two cousins who compete for her attentions: the queen’s close friend and ally Lady Sarah (Rachel Weisz) and the ambitious servant Abigail (Emma Stone).  

Plagued by gout and given to uneven psychological outbursts, Queen Anne isn’t able to focus on the needs of her country and its people, leaving her vulnerable to the wiles of those around her who are only too happy to help. The queen searches for distractions from her pain through sexual trysts with Lady Sarah and Abigail, but her hunger for love and comfort can never quite be satiated. Weisz’s and Stone’s characters smell opportunity and go in for the kill. They pursue personal and political power with an anything-goes vengeance that includes shooting at, slapping, or psychologically tormenting each other in an effort to be the queen’s favorite.

There is so much clichéd catfighting in this film that it’s not worth calling out. No female nurturing of any kind is allowed, unless you count the bunny snuggling. The film practically shouts, “Women must be men and beat them at their own game to be powerful!” It’s not a flattering portrayal of strong women. With the possible exception of Queen Anne, a bereft monarch who seems refreshingly innocent when compared with the barracudas around her.

The Favourite is certainly beautiful to look at and the acting, particularly of Colman, is duly lauded. The opulent set and costumes offer delicious cinematic porn. Director Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster) upends expectations with a combination of glee and distaste at nearly every turn (“Look at me! Don’t look at me!”). Even the trailer, which hints at satire, misleads those who enter the theater looking for a lively costume drama.

Some find The Favourite to be a delicious and witty romp. Others see it as a uniquely female saga depicting fierce women doing whatever they must to survive in a male-dominated world. For me, it was just sort of vile and uncomfortable. And not all that funny. Maybe in part because, no one, including the queen, seemed terribly concerned about what was best for the country. These characters only cared about their own self interests. The film left me longing for a kinder and more authentic view of womens’ relationships.

And that’s just what we get in Roma. The film opens as the protagonist, Cleo, a live-in maid in Mexico City, mops the outer entryway of her employer’s home to clean up dog poop. We see a reflection in the soapy water puddles she leaves behind of an airplane passing overhead in the skies above the rooftops. We know right then that Cleo’s life may seem small by other peoples’ standards, yet she holds the keys to a rich world in her calloused hands.

Tonally, Roma is everything The Favourite is not. Filmmaker Alfonso Cuarón’s black-and-white footage and slow-moving sequences of sparse dialogue give it a personal, naturalistic feel. The tenderness of Cleo’s character and her empathetic human relationships are conveyed effortlessly as she tucks the children into bed each night or cuddles with them as they watch television with the entire family in their living room.

At its core Roma is a story about female relationships, specifically between an employer and an employee. The ties that bind Cleo with the matriarch of the family become a central storyline. These women love each other, which doesn’t mean they don’t snap at each other occasionally. But there’s no back-stabbing vitriol in the face of life’s biggest challenges (divorce, death, political strife). When these women face difficult crossroads, they turn to each other and find respect, caring, and support.

Cuarón’s long, languid shots invite you to pay attention to life’s simpler moments: clothes drying outside on a line with water dripping from them, the skyline of the neighborhood’s uneven rooftops, the gossip between the domestic help in the kitchen while washing dishes. The artifacts of an everyday life, too often overlooked but essential to survival.

In Roma we bear witness to the intensely challenging moments too—the ones that befall us and we’re forced to face. This is unlike the characters in The Favourite who spend as much time manufacturing their drama as reacting to their circumstances. Cuarón’s honesty is in his willingness not to flinch at the hard stuff—staying seconds too long on a young woman screaming in anguish as she cradles a dying man who’d been shot in the streets, or lingering on a shot in which a mother and her stillborn baby lie on parallel hospital beds.

Like Abigail in The Favourite, Cleo does what she can to survive. To survive in her world, Cleo trades in the only currency she has to offer: kindness. This is in stark relief to the characters in The Favourite who’ve forgotten how to barter humanely. It’s not clear they ever would.

As for women’s empowerment, much has been made about The Favourite’s screenplay having been co-written by a female, Deborah Davis, who is a favorite to take home an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay along with Tony McNamara. Instead of bringing deep complexity and richness to womens’ characters, these writers trotted out old tropes and masked them in a quirky tale with witty repartee. Hardly groundbreaking for women writers. In particular, how are we to reconcile female characters who use sexual favors to advance their power and influence in light of the #MeToo movement?

Oh, but these are just movies, right? In our entertainment-obsessed country where the real media is often viewed as fake news, I’m not so sure. I think movies may matter more than ever.

I know both films can be enjoyed for what they are. If you like provocative filmmaking that makes you stand up and take notice of malevolent actions and people you don’t want to be near, The Favourite is the film for you. Maybe it’s a necessary reminder of how power is misused and the lengths people will employ to keep it. 

Or you can hang out with Cleo for a few hours and immerse yourself in kindness.